


in your smile i saw

by nekonicko



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekonicko/pseuds/nekonicko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six times the companions fell in love with Garrett Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aveline

“Aveline! Behind you!” 

The shout jarred its way through Aveline’s battle-haze, and she whirled around in time to deflect the Coterie assassin’s dagger. With a ragged yell and a great heave, she shoved the pointed edge of Wesley’s shield into the assassin’s chest, feeling the metal break through light mail and then flesh. The masked man gave a watery gurgle and went down, just as Hawke reached her side. His silvery-white hair had come free of its usual tight queue and errant strands hung over his tan, smoothly handsome face. With eyes bright in battle-madness, blood flecked on his silver lashes and smeared across his cheek, Hawke made a terrifying sight, savagely graceful as he cut down yet another enemy that came between him and his friends. 

“Thanks, Hawke,” Aveline managed to say between breaths as she turned back to the fray. This particular band of criminals was almost defeated, most of them dead or fleeing into the night, where Aveline hoped they wouldn’t try to accost anyone else. If they had to carve their way from one part of Lowtown to another every night, she at least got to rest easy knowing that the roving bands of raiders, assassins, thugs, and mercenaries that they killed wouldn’t try to hurt some other, more defenseless citizen. 

When at last every one of them was dead, and they were sifting through their attackers’ pockets for coin, Aveline turned to Hawke and grapsed his shoulder tightly. “Really, thank you for watching my back,” she said. She had found an unlikely friend in this warrior, too soft-hearted for his own good and with a terrible sense of humor, but willing still to take a stranger into his small, ragged, broken family. Garrett shrugged and grinned sheepishly, reaching to wipe gore off Aveline’s face. Physical touching came so easily to this man, and at first Aveline had been shocked and offended by how tactile he was, thinking that he had been trying to make advances upon her. She had eventually learned that it was just part of his nature, and found herself returning the small gestures more often than not. Hawke just did that to her.

“You would have done the same for me,” he finally said, more seriously as he patted her down gently, mindful of her accumulation of bruises and other small injuries. “Are you alright?” Aveline nodded in affirmation, and he gave her a small smile before moving to Bethany and repeating the process, ensuring their safety before he attended his own myriad cuts and bruises. Aveline stared at his armored back, deep in thought. 

They had spent the last year together, taking on all of Kirkwall’s challenges as a team, and what had once been a group formed out of desperation and sheer necessity had become a tiny, tight-knit family. Aveline didn’t presume to think herself a Hawke, but she knew that she would die for Garrett and Bethany as surely as they would die for her. And that wasn’t something she took lightly. In the wake of Wesley’s death, Aveline realized with astonishment, she could court anyone she wanted. She knew that her late husband wouldn’t want her to mourn in celibacy for the rest of her life, and she didn’t intend to disgrace her husband’s memory that way. Watching the Hawke siblings interact, she realized that if she wanted, she could court Hawke. 

For a moment, she allowed herself to entertain the possibility. Hawke, smiling at her, kissing her, Hawke in her bed, his hand in her hair. Marrying him, having children with him. She shook her head of the clinging images, resisting the urge to laugh at herself. What was she thinking? Hawke was a loveable man, and surely he cared for her as well, but theirs was not destined to be a romantic relationship. Aveline nodded to herself in affirmation of her conclusion. No, she loved him and he loved her but not that way, not in the shadow of Wesley’s death. Hawke needed someone else, someone who understood him as well as her, but with more sweetness that wasn’t greyed by the lingering fog of grief. 

But, as she approached him, she allowed her hand to drift to his, giving him a small squeeze as he looked at her in surprise and curiosity, and then letting him go. She gave herself that, and smiled at him, and if her smile was a little sad and a little wistful, he didn’t give any indication of it as he smiled back.

“Mother made some stew and bread for us, back at my uncle’s house,” he told her. “Would you like to join us for a late dinner?” Bethany smiled at her too, and their resemblance shone through their features. Aveline nodded and felt warmth rise in her chest that had nothing to do with the promise of stew, hearth or laughter, or perhaps everything to do with it.


	2. Varric

Varric Tethras didn’t make friends easily.

As a child, braiding his flaxen hair on the hearth, his mother would lament his inability to make friends. “You’ll never be a good businessman if you can’t make friends,” she chided. “You should be more like Bartrand, he’s very popular with the girls.” History had obviously proven that to be untrue, as he had grown into his own successful merchant empire, while Bartrand continued to be a terrible, slimy stick in the mud. But his mother did have a point: Varric was _friendly_ , but he didn’t make friends.

He could play the best game of diamondback in Lowtown, he could disarm with a wry smile, he never went back on his debts, and his business associates never feared a visit from Carta or Coterie alike – but Varric did not have many friends.

In fact, before Hawke had come barging into his life – or rather, before _he_ had barged into _Hawke’s_ life – Varric did not have any friends. He was simply too busy for friends, he told himself. He had Bianca, and he had the promise of untold riches from their planned Deep Roads expedition, and he had a large, cozy room in the Hanged Man that didn’t stink so much as the rest of the place. He was perfectly content.

So when he had finished reporting on the most recent job to Hawke one night in the Hanged Man, Varric was taken completely by surprise when Hawke whistled to Norah and ordered drinks for them both. He fought to conceal his reaction as Hawke turned back to him. “What’s this for, now?” Varric asked, eyebrow quirking.

Hawke only smirked, a little mysterious. “It occurred to me, on the last job,” he drawled, “that in all the times I’ve seen you at the Hanged Man, I’ve never seen someone else buy a drink for you. How much money do you spend just buying drinks for people?” Norah returned, with two large pints of the terrible swill that Varric and Hawke so loved.

Varric chuckled, still pleasantly surprised by the unexpected gesture. In his line of work, paying for another’s drink was like a peace agreement, ensuring that at least while the beer lasted, they weren’t going to be at each other’s throats. For that, he was more than willing to spend a fortune each month if it meant that his meetings went smoothly. “I buy them drinks to encourage trust,” he replied, tapping the side of his nose. “An obstinate merchant is going to be more likely to sell me his shares if he’s also got a pleasant buzz from good liquor, for free.”

“I can agree to that,” Hawke replied, eyes bright in the shifting lantern light of the tavern. “Well, consider this me trying to gain your trust.” With one motion he tipped the drink into his mouth, drinking deeply and heartily. Varric drank as well, squeezing his eyes shut as the cheap liquor burned its way down his throat to settle pleasantly in his belly.

When he had finished swallowing, Varric smirked. “Why, Hawke, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to worm your way into my bed. Though if you were, I’d recommend better liquor.” He had meant it totally as a joke, but Hawke’s flush and subsequent stammering had his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. “Hawke,” Varric said in a deadpan voice. “You’re telling me this is a date?”

Hawke sputtered, struck halfway between mortification and laughter. “No, no, Varric,” he assured him, settling finally for laughter. “This is not a date. I was just trying to stimulate friendly conversation.” Hawke’s grey eyes glinted warmly as he smiled. “I want to be your friend, Varric. I am going on a dangerous and potentially deadly expedition with you, after all. I need to know if you have my back.”

“You don’t seem eager to buy drinks for Bartrand,” Varric pointed out, though he conceded to Hawke’s point. Bartrand was a lost cause, but Varric _was_ more approachable, and definitely more attractive. He lapsed into thoughtful silence, and Hawke seemed to watch him with no small amount of trepidation, as if afraid he had said too much. They did not know each other terribly well, and interacted purely through witty banter and businesslike agreements. But Varric saw the potential for more, and blight it, it wasn’t like he had much experience to go on. The moment of silence passed, and Varric raised his pint toward his new friend. “I’ll be happy to watch your back, Garrett, if you only watch mine.”

Hawke touched his pint to Varric’s, smiling cheerily. “I’ll be glad to.”

As they passed the night away in drinks and increasingly elaborate and terrible toasts, Varric couldn’t help but feel a little giddy and light, and floaty in a way that probably had more to do with the alcohol than anything else. He had made a friend, one that wasn’t interested in his contacts or money or skills. In a single gesture of respect, Hawke had won his loyalty and trust a thousand times over.


End file.
